


If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things

by okydoky



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okydoky/pseuds/okydoky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the day, Harry will do whatever it takes to keep Draco. No matter what he's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta emansil_08.

If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things

… 

Harry pushes him against the stone brick wall. Draco can just imagine the spores of green moss and clods of dirt rubbing off against his heavy coat. The coat will not stay on his shoulders for long if he knows Harry – and Draco would bet his worldly possessions that he does.

Soon, Harry's lips are on his. Rough and possessive is the scratch of Harry's stubble against his cheeks. In the morning there will be a red rash there which Draco will have to spell away. He will do it with regret, but it's necessary. His… associates would ask questions that Draco has neither the time nor the inclination to answer. Most of the time, the questions scare Draco so much that he won't ask them to himself. That's wrong. It's the answers that worry Draco.

Draco lets Harry's tongue dance with his. As Harry's teeth gently tug at his bottom lip, Draco takes in a sharp breath. He represses the urge to bite down on Harry, to make him bleed and let their bodily fluids intertwine until they consume each other, are inside each other, until they are one.

The ridge of Harry's glasses digs into Draco's eyelids. He pulls them off and drops them to the floor. They make no noise as they hit the ground, but they make a satisfying crunch as Draco stands on them. Bastard things are the bane of Draco's life. They dig into his face and hide Harry's pretty green eyes: a sentiment he would never admit to aloud.

Draco's coat is being pushed away from his shoulders. It hits the ground with a faint tingle of glass clinging together and keys jangling.

It's August – the sky is still light even though it is gone eight o'clock in the evening, and the alley they are frequenting isn't _that_ good a hiding place. The skyline of London is fading into darkness though; the sun turns the sky oranges and pinks and purples as it sets.

Draco pushes Harry away. His eyes are blazing green. Anger. Draco definitely sees anger in them. Arousal, too. Harry's cheeks are flushed, and Draco knows if he glances down he will see a bulge at Harry's groin, even through his heavy red Auror robes. He doesn't. He holds his gaze.

"My flat?" Harry asks.

Draco pauses but nods a second or two later.

Harry holds out his hand before Draco looks at his coat, pooled around his feet.

Harry fishes it from the floor, draping it over his arm. Draco holds his breath and takes Harry's hand. With a quiet pop, they disappear from the alley and reappear in Harry's living room.

The coat is flung from Harry's grasp to the murky brown carpet. Draco watches as Harry's fingers fiddle with the golden clasps of his Auror cloak.

"Wait," Draco says. "Leave it on."

Harry smirks at him. The gesture is small; he's not comfortable with it yet. Draco likes to believe it's his influence.

"Kinky bastard."

Draco shrugs. "Perhaps. First time I've seen you in those robes."

"Do they do it for you then?" Harry asks with a laugh.

"It's Harry Potter, in Auror robes, on his knees. It wouldn't surprise me if that does it for every sexually active person in the wizarding world."

A blush blooms across his cheeks, but Harry knows better than to deny it. "I'm not on my knees."

"Well, you should be."

Harry laughs again. He laughs a lot. Draco doesn't really know what to make of it yet. Harry falls to his knees, grabs Draco by the leg of his trousers and pulls him forwards.

Harry nuzzles his mouth against the fabric of Draco's trousers, before pulling them down so they pool at his feet. He steps out of them. Harry licks the bulge his hard cock makes in his boxer shorts. Draco is sure he must be able to taste the liquid that is leaking from his cock.

Harry Potter, in his Auror robes, is on his knees in front of him, Draco Malfoy, Former Death Eater and petty criminal. The first time Harry sucked him off, he was arrested for theft just ten minutes after he came. He hadn't needed the money, but he craved the thrill.

"Suck me," Draco says.

Harry doesn't argue. He loves it.

He pulls Draco's boxers down, and they are discarded. Draco briefly sees them land on top of his coat. He's more interested in the face between his legs, and the tongue which is gently licking his balls. Harry sucks one into his mouth, and Draco digs his fingers into the bed of Harry's scalp. He pulls his hair. Hard, but not too hard, and Harry moans around Draco's cock. The vibrations send a shiver up Draco's spine.

Harry wraps his tongue around the base of Draco's cock, and gently pulls his mouth off his cock. He plunges his mouth back down, taking Draco fully into his mouth. He builds up a rhythm which quickly brings Draco to the brink of his orgasm.

As Draco looks down at Harry's head bobbing up and down in his lap, he catches his eye. Harry doesn't look away, and Harry's gaze feels like a mirror into Draco's mind.

"Fuck me," Draco breathes.

Harry opens his mouth, and Draco's cock rests on his bottom lip. He pulls his cock out slowly, and Harry sucks the head once, hard, before it falls from his mouth.

"Where…" Harry's voice is slightly hoarse, and his lips are red, puffy.

Before he realizes he's done it, Draco has fallen to the floor on his knees and kisses Harry. He holds his jaw between both hands, kissing until their foreheads are rested against the other and they're panting, catching their breath.

"Wow…" Harry breathes.

"Shut up," Draco growls, and kisses him again. He pounces forwards, knocking Harry backwards. Draco straddles his hips and mutters a couple of words into Harry's mouth. The clothes separating them disappear, and a frisson of electricity surges through Draco's body as their hard cocks brush up against the other.

"Let me get the lube," Harry whispers as Draco takes his hands and pins them behind his head.

Draco can't wait. In this moment he needs Harry's cock inside him more than he needs to breath. He mutters a few more words and his hand fills with warm, slick lube. Slipping his hand behind him, Draco slips a finger inside his arse, pushing it up. Another finger, and that's all he can manage.

He wipes the rest of the lube down Harry's hard, red cock. It stands straight, glistening tall and proud.

He knows Harry has had no foreplay whatsoever apart from sucking Draco off, but Draco is hopeful that he will be forgiven.

Draco loves him. He's not in this just for the thrill.

"Draco, be careful," Harry warns. His hands have moved, and they're now gripping Draco's hips. There will be bruises. Those can remain, small purple circles, a temporary tattoo against his skin. A reminder of the fleeting desire they shared in the shadows, in secret, when Draco can delude himself is more.

Draco shakes his head. He takes Harry's cock between his fingers and raises up on his knees, lining himself up. He sinks down slowly. He didn't really prepare himself enough. There is a slight burn which fades as he rocks himself.

He closes his eyes the moment he feels Harry's balls against his arse. He lifts himself up and rocks against the cock which is filling him oh so perfectly. Draco finds a rhythm which means Harry's cock brushes over his prostate every time he sinks down.

"Draco," Harry moans, bringing Draco back to the present. He looks down, and there are scratch marks streaked down Harry's chest.

"How…" Draco breathes.

"You," Harry says with a breathless chuckle. "You were in your own world there for a while. You looked… amazing. So free."

"And I scratched you."

"Would have stopped you if I wanted to."

Draco raises his eyebrows as he raises his hips. Harry thrusts up and Draco pinches his nipple, eliciting a hiss.

"Git."

"Wimp."

Harry shakes his head. His fringe is in his face, damp strands in front of dilated, gorgeous, green eyes. "I need to come," he begs.

"Patience…"

He shakes his head again and rests his hand on Draco's shoulder. Harry pushes him until Draco is lying on his back, and Harry's cock is thrusting inside him, at a rate of what must be a million times a minute. Nearly every time his prostate is brushed, sending sparks of electricity through his body. His entire body feels like a giant nerve, all being stimulated at once. His orgasm is cresting like a wave, ready to crash over him. It has the potential to be a tsunami. Catastrophic.

When Draco comes, it is silently. His back arches and toes curl, and he spills over his fist. He blacks out for a second. He comes to, and Harry is still shallowly thrusting.

"All right?" Harry asks.

Draco moans. Nods. "Come for me."

It takes a minute or two, but Harry does. Noisily, messily, biting Draco's shoulder. Harry collapses on top of Draco. They lie side by side as they fight to catch their breath. Goose pimples break out across Draco's arms as the sweat dries on his skin.

Harry kisses his shoulder, and buries his head into the crease of Draco's arm.

As Harry falls asleep on his hallway floor, Draco swears he hears a muttered, 'love you'.

… 

When Harry wakes up during the middle of the night, Draco is still there. He lies in Harry's bed, on the bare mattress as Harry doesn't _do_ washing. His long, lean leg dangles from the side. Harry brushed a kiss over his forhead before he heads to the bathroom.

Passing through the hall on the way, Harry groans at the mess they left. He pads down the hall, quietly, quietly. He doesn't want to wake Draco, even though twenty minutes of berating will probably lead to sex. Tomorrow will be a long day.

He picks up Draco's clothes, folding them by hand. They smell like Draco. He takes a long sniff of his jumper, making sure there is no one to see.

The items in his coat pocket jangle. He pauses before digging his hands into the depths of the cavernous pockets. His fingers curl around a small vial. And another.

In it is black liquid. Harry doesn't know for sure what it is, but he can guess. Black Nightshade. Draco was the dealer. Discovering and imprisoning the Black Nightshade dealer was one of Ron's cases.

Maybe… maybe if Harry just put it back he could pretend. Pretend Draco was the perfect boyfriend. Pretend it was just another black potion. Pretend that maybe it was for personal use.

Harry has become good at denial. He puts everything back in its rightful place before carrying on tidying.

He pees, and gets back in bed, snuggling his feet under Draco's warm thighs. He sleeps easily. More easily than he should.

… 

The next morning, ridiculously early, Harry wakes. He's in his bed, and he's alone.

Next to the coffee pot in the kitchen, there is a note. A scribbled 'D' with an x beneath it. That's all. Just two letters, but they warm Harry's heart and bring a smile to his face.

It's the only trace left of Draco in the flat apart from fingernail marks trailing down his chest.

Harry doesn't feel disappointed. They will meet again. They always do.

… 

"You… you found what?" Harry asks, but he does not hear the words he receives in reply. He has to ask for them to be repeated.

"Black Nightshade," Ron repeats with a yawn, tailing off at the end. He covers his mouth with his hand. "Sorry, mate. Yeah, three vials of the stuff in the pocket of his huge black coat."

Harry has to swallow. Something has risen in his throat, and Harry just knows it will stop the words escaping. But he needs to answer. "Really? Wow…"

"He had enough to drug a whole town in his pocket. Mental. The Aurors investigating didn't find anything at the Manor though, nothing incriminating like. There are all sorts of rumours flying around about underground black markets for the stuff." Ron looks up for a second. Harry wouldn't be surprised if Ron could feel Harry's staring eyes boring into his skin.

"That's mad, that," Harry says, but he can barely think for all the ideas rushing through his mind. Malfoy couldn't do this, he wouldn't. Not to Harry. Harry thought – he thought they were something. A thing, at the very least.

Ron flicks him. "Mate, look. Frost must be taking him down to the cells now. Don't envy the bastard, they're colder than Frost."

Harry is walking towards Malfoy before Ron has finished his muttering about Frost. Ron's only bitter after locking himself in the cells one night, and Frost leaving him there to teach him a lesson. Malfoy looks awful: there are already bags under his eyes, his skin looks translucent and he's wearing a thin grey shirt that Harry doesn't recognise, but it has a tear at the collar that Harry distinctly remembers administering. He stops dead in his tracks when Draco looks up.

With one look, Harry knows. He knows every word of every accusation is true. But, he also knows that nothing is going to stop him. What he and Malfoy have… it's too much most of the time – consuming, exhausting and terrifying. Harry never wants to let it go. And he knows that he has to do whatever it takes to get Malfoy out of that cell and back under Harry's lips and teeth and nails and cock.


End file.
